


Forgotten

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Christmas Isn't Canon, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2020-06-26 12:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19767919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: Finally, he found his voice. “Who are you?”Her face crumbled,and she drew back as if she’d been slapped. “So it’s true, then? You don’t… Remember?”Oh, he was so very tired of disappointing people. “I’m sorry.”





	1. Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! You have no idea how long I've been working on this one, honestly. I'm so excited, because I've actually finished this entire fic. I still need to edit the later chapters, but I haven't finished a multichapter fic in ages, so this is really exciting.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be essentially a rom-com. "Amnesiac!Flynn is an absolute puppy who's smitten with Lucy and is even worse at hiding it than Flynn on a normal day." 
> 
> My brain said, "M, no, interesting idea, but no, this is going to be 16k+ of angst, pining, and misunderstandings." ... Have fun!

He woke to blinding artificial lights, pain absolutely everywhere, and an angel sitting beside his bed. All things considered, it could have been worse.

Not an angel, he realized moments later, unless wings and halos had gone out of style. Just a woman, with striking features and warm eyes full of concern. When she realized he was awake, she smiled softly, relief clear.

His throat was dry and achy, as if he hadn’t had a drop of water in months, but he still managed to croak out, “Hey.” 

“Hey.” As if reading his mind, she handed him a cup of water, and with a bit of effort he sat up and brought it to his mouth. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “Like I’ve been shot,” he answered playfully, and her face fell, something tight and pained creeping in. He had the strongest urge to take the words back, to do whatever it took to make her smile again.

“That’s not funny,” she said, and the hurt in her voice burned straight through him.

“I… Apologize.” Come to think of it… “I don’t actually remember what happened. Was I shot?”

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him, searching his eyes for any signs of deception. It threw him, for a moment. Why would he lie about that?

“Yes,” she answered finally, shaking her head to clear the hair from her face. Inexplicably, he had to fight the urge to reach out, to tuck the curls behind her ear. “When we were making a run for it, Emma shot you several times. You… You almost didn’t make it.” 

Emma? The name didn’t ring any bells. Strange; he normally remembered who wanted him dead. (Didn’t he? For some reason, his brain couldn’t summon a single name.) “Rude of her,” he muttered, and the not-angel rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s a big concern of hers.” A ghost of a smirk crossed her face, but it quickly faded. “Seriously, though. How are you?”

This time he actually considered the question. Every part of his body ached, but the pain was manageable. He’d definitely had worse. (Hadn’t he? Why couldn’t he remember?) He was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted, as if he’d been wearing out a punching bag instead of sleeping off a bullet wound. 

He didn’t want to lie to this kind and lovely woman sitting by his bedside, but he also didn’t want to upset her further. “Sore,” he admitted, “but I’m alright.” 

She smiled properly then, amused, almost indulgent. As if she knew what he was going to say, and she wasn’t convinced in the slightest. (As if she knew him. So why didn’t he know her?) “I should get Agent Christopher. Let her know you’re awake.”

Who? 

Deep in his gut, a sinking feeling hit. 

Something was wrong. 

Very wrong.

“Wait!” Half-panicked, he reached for her, catching her hand before she could walk away. She stared down at the contact in disbelief, and he quickly released her. “Sorry, I just… What was your name, again?”

She blinked.

Stared at him.

Searched his eyes once more, looking for even a hint of insincerity, but there was nothing to find. 

“You don’t-“ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. “You don’t know who I am?”

And oh, he wished he could tell her something else. Anything else. Because this woman, he was quite sure, was the sort that deserved to be remembered. But his mind was frustratingly blank. “Believe me, I wish I did,” he answered, and her mouth fell open, just a touch. 

“You’re serious. Okay, well… What’s the last thing you remember?”

He didn’t want to try to remember. Somehow, he knew with sinking certainty exactly what he would find. But her eyes pleaded with him, and he found himself giving in, searching his mind for a checkpoint, a landmark, anything to center his thoughts.

Nothing.

He had no idea where he was, why he was there, why anyone would want him dead, who she was, or even-

He couldn’t remember his name. 

His mind rebelled-of course he knew his own name-but try as he might, he couldn’t remember.

“Nothing,” he admitted, stomach dropping. “Nothing.”

“Oh.” She blinked a couple of times, composing herself, before nodding. “I think Agent Christopher should hear about this. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” he said again. “Please. At least tell me my name?”

She hesitated. “Garcia. Garcia Flynn. And... I’m Lucy.” And with that, she stepped out, leaving him all alone, without even himself for company.

-

She could only imagine what he thought of her, as she made hasty excuses and scrambled out of the room.

Poor man. He had no idea what was going on, and she hadn’t even tried to explain. He must have been terrified. For a brief moment, she considered going back in, but her heart was pounding in her chest, and she couldn’t quite breathe. 

He didn’t remember her.

In all the time they’d known each other, he’d never looked at her with indifference. He’d tried a time or two, feigned carelessness and even cruelty so poorly that she wondered why he even bothered, but had never truly succeeded. But when he woke minutes before, the look he’d given her had been so blank, so emotionless, it sent chills down her spine. She’d actually been relieved at the tender smile that had replaced it, even if it held implications she wasn’t ready to think about. 

But apparently he didn’t even know who she was. 

“That’s one way to make a first impression,” she muttered, sagging against the wall. Although in fairness, they did have a history of bad first impressions. At least she didn’t light anything on fire. 

Wyatt was the first to notice her walking into the kitchen, and he gave her a guarded smile. She knew it had been hard for him, watching her stay by Flynn’s side for so long. He even offered to spell her once, but she hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of leaving him.

“How is he?” He asked, voice carefully even. 

“He-” The words stuck at the back of her throat. Saying it would make it real, would mean that he really was-

The others turned to face her, all with varying levels of concern. She gathered herself, and continued.

“He’s awake. But he doesn’t remember anything.”

Rufus frowned. “What, like Emma shooting him? Or-”

“Anything.” The word was too loud in the quiet room. “He didn’t even know who he was.”

For a moment, her announcement was met with stunned silence. Then, Agent Christopher cleared her throat. 

“I hate to say it, but we have to consider the possibility that he’s lying.”

Regretfully, that was her first thought as well, but his expression was so sincere. Her gut twisted with guilt for doubting him, even for a second, and she wasn’t about to let them do it too. “No. I know him. He meant it.”

“Besides,” Jiya piped up, “Why would he lie about that?” 

Lucy shot her a grateful look, but Agent Christopher’s expression darkened. An uneasy feeling hummed under Lucy’s skin, and she had the terrible idea that Agent Christopher would, in fact, have an answer, and it wouldn’t be one Lucy liked.

“You said that you weren’t there when Emma shot him, right?” 

Lucy dropped her gaze. “We split up.” 

Normally, she would have gone with him, but they were fighting. Something small and stupid, she couldn’t even remember what, but in the heat of the moment, she’d snapped.  _ Maybe I’ll go with Wyatt, then.  _

Rufus had been busy stealing horses for them, which had left Flynn all alone.

She left Flynn alone to get shot. 

Agent Christopher nodded slowly. “Emma had a few minutes alone with him, then.”

“What, do you think Emma turned him?” Wyatt sounded a little skeptical. 

Rufus seemed to agree. “I mean, I don’t always like the guy, but he really does hate Rittenhouse. I can’t imagine he’d just-”

“He wouldn’t turn on us,” Lucy interrupted. It wasn’t that Rufus was wrong, exactly, but he was missing the point. They were a team. Flynn was loyal to them. Besides… “He wouldn’t turn on me.”

Wyatt grimaced, but made no move to argue. 

Agent Christopher drew in a breath, and Lucy had the fleeting thought that she looked nervous. It wasn’t a good fit for her. “Flynn has been… Talking to me. Recently.” Their boss chose every word carefully. “About saving his family.”

For a terrible second, Lucy thought the floor might give way beneath her. “What?”

“He wanted to know if it was possible.” The older woman bowed her head slightly. “I told him it probably wasn’t. You giving him the journal started all of this, and that only happened because his family died.”

Lucy was oddly grateful for the shock that followed. It gave her a moment to process her own swirling thoughts. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to save his family. Of course he did. She knew that, had known that all along. She wanted that for him, desperately so. As much as it settled uncomfortably under her skin, reminding her too much of another man and another time, she would have given almost anything to let Flynn hold his wife and little girl again. 

So it wasn’t that. 

It was the fact that he hadn’t said a word about any of this to her.

She had no idea he was talking to Agent Christopher, and her immediate urge was to march down the hall and demand to know why he never told her, but she _ couldn’t _ , he wouldn’t know either, and she could hardly keep herself upright. 

“Lucy?” Agent Christopher was watching her with concern, and Lucy forced herself to refocus her thoughts. 

“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but a familiar one, and she was certain they all stopped believing it a long time ago. 

Rufus actually seemed wary now. “You think Emma offered him a trade? Help her out with something, and she’d help get his family back?” 

“No,” she answered before Agent Christopher could. No matter how shocked she was, she knew he’d never do that. 

Not to her. 

“I don’t want to believe it either,” Agent Christopher said, and she seemed sincere. “But we can’t afford to be too careful. Especially not now.” 

She did not look at Wyatt. She did not have to.

“She’s right.” He cleared his throat. “We should go question him. Lucy, why don’t you wait out here? We’ll let you know when it’s safe to go in.” 

Not a chance. “Look, if you want to ask him questions, go for it. But I’m going to be there too.” 

“I’ll let Mason know that Flynn’s awake,” Jiya cut in. “He’ll want to know.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Agent Christopher gestured. “Lead the way, Lucy.”

-

He was tall, apparently, or else this bed was short; his feet dangled off the end. 

There wasn’t much else he could tell about himself. His skin was tanned, but not dark, and lined with scars of all shapes and sizes. A soldier? That would explain why he was shot, at least. Was this some sort of strange military base? But Lucy didn’t exactly look like a soldier. 

Suddenly, his eyes caught on something shiny: a ring, resting on his left hand, glittering gold.

Married.

He was married.

He lifted his hand closer to his face, and slid the ring off to examine it. It was simple, with a short engraving inside:  _ “G+L, Together Forever.”  _ G for Garcia, and L for…

_ Lucy.  _

Her hurt expression flickered through his mind, horrified that he didn’t know her.  _ Oh, sweet girl.  _ He couldn’t imagine how much it must have hurt for him to look at her like a stranger. As soon as she got back, he would tell her that he knew, and he’d try his best to be the husband she remembered. 

Unless she sent the others in without her. 

He wouldn’t blame her if she did, if she avoided him until he was back to normal. (Whatever that meant for him.) Still, he couldn’t quite steady his breath at the thought of facing this alone.

_ Please don’t leave me, Lucy. I’m sorry.  _


	2. Familiarization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took him half an hour to convince them he wasn’t lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!! Welcome to chapter two! The ring conversation everyone has been so excited about is right around the corner, so just take a seat and enjoy the show!
> 
> I'm so grateful for all of the feedback you guys gave me on chapter one. Thank you so, so much for being amazing readers.

Flynn’s eyes fixed on her the second she walked in, barely sparing the others a glance. “You came back.” 

Had he thought she wouldn’t? That she would just abandon him completely? In fairness, she did duck out pretty quickly. She winced, slipping back into her seat. “Yeah, I did.” 

He reached for her hesitantly, and she could feel Wyatt’s eyes on them. Pointedly ignoring him, she took Flynn’s hand, clasping it between both of hers. He clung to her like a lifeline, and she squeezed, trying to reassure him.  _ I’m here. It’s okay. _

His eyes darted to her left hand, and his brows furrowed, but before he could say anything, Agent Christopher cleared her throat. 

Right, then. They could talk about it later.

“This is Agent Christopher,” she murmured, as the woman in question waved. “Wyatt. And Rufus.” 

He nodded to each in turn, smiling cautiously. Wyatt rolled his eyes, and Flynn held her a bit tighter. 

Agent Christopher gave Flynn a thin smile. “I have a few questions to ask you.”

His face fell, and Lucy’s heart broke. The look understanding, of realizing that they didn’t trust him, was almost unbearable. She caught his gaze, steady, silently promising that he had at least one person in his corner.

She wasn’t sure how much it helped, but after a moment, he turned back to Agent Christopher, steeling himself. 

“Go ahead. But unless it’s about the last fifteen minutes or so, I probably don’t have much of an answer.”

-

Half an hour.

It took him half an hour to convince them he wasn’t lying. 

Lucy never let go of his hand, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. The cold suspicion of his supposed teammates made his skin crawl, and he dreaded to hear exactly the kind of person he was. Her presence, solid and assuring, offered him a bit of warmth to cling to. Surely he couldn’t be so terrible, if someone like her would stay by his side.

Still, her lack of wedding ring worried him. Were they separated? Divorced? Or was she just allergic to metal? She didn’t seem to hate him, which was a comfort, but it wasn’t enough to calm his growing fear.

Most of the questions were about something called “Rittenhouse,” although they refused to tell him what it was. With every answer he gave, they grew more unsettled, glancing between each other.

Rufus was the first to admit that he might be telling the truth, followed by Agent Christopher. Wyatt, on the other hand, was still watching him as if he expected a trick. “What do you remember about that?” The soldier asked, gesturing to Garcia’s left hand. To the ring. 

“Ah.” He wanted to have this conversation alone with Lucy, but apparently Wyatt wasn’t going to grant him that. “Nothing. But I read the inscription.” He turned to Lucy, pausing at her expression. Her eyes were tender and pained, and she squeezed his hand gently. Reassuring him. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.” 

She froze. Stared at him blankly for a second, before turning to her team. 

Once again, a sinking feeling crept into his gut, and he clung to her a little tighter. 

“What does the inscription say?” Wyatt asked carefully, and irritation bubbled up in him. This man really didn’t know when to drop something, did he? 

Before he could tell him off, Rufus stepped in, holding up his hands placatingly. “Look, we’re just trying to figure out what’s going on, okay? We think you might have…” He hesitated. “Misunderstood something.”

Misunderstood.

Such a simple little word, to fill him with so much dread.

He turned to Lucy, and she nodded, expression suddenly guarded. Oh, he hated it, didn’t want her to shut him out, but he couldn’t hold it against her. “It said…” His breath caught, but he managed to repeat:  _ “G+L, Together Forever.” _

Lucy paled. 

Immediately, he was sure: he’d been very, very wrong. 

“You’re not my wife.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.” She shook her head, dropping his hand. It took everything in him not to reach for her, to beg her not to leave him, but he forced himself to think. He was wearing a ring. If she wasn’t his wife…. 

“Who is?” Not Agent Christopher, he’d guess. She wasn’t watching him like a heartbroken spouse, but an assessing professional. Surely she wasn’t that good of an actress.

Lucy hesitated. Refused to meet his eyes. His heart dropped once more to him stomach, and he thought it might stay there forever. 

“You’re not married anymore,” she said finally. “Your wife-“

“Don’t,” Agent Christopher interrupted. “His memories need to come back on their own. Who knows what would happen if he was..” She hesitated. “Overwhelmed?”

Because that wasn’t a terrifying thing to hear at all. He silently pleaded with Lucy to tell him anyway, but he knew deep down that she wouldn’t. Agent Christopher was the boss, apparently, and Lucy would listen to her. 

Sure enough, after a long pause, she nodded. “You’re right.” She turned to him, gaze landing on his pillow, just past his head. “You need to focus on getting better. We should probably-” She gestured to her team, and they all started for the door. 

Leaving him. 

She was leaving him again. 

Maybe she wasn’t his wife, but she was the only person in this place he trusted. Including himself. “Lucy, please,” he whispered, as the others filtered out. She froze. “Will you… Stay?” 

-

She almost didn’t. 

Her mind was racing with half-finished thoughts and jumbled ideas, trying to process the last forty-five minutes. (He thought she was his  _ wife?  _ No wonder he looked at her like that.) It was too much, and her fight-or-flight response was in full bloom, begging her to get out. She was trapped, suffocating,  _ overwhelmed. _

But he looked to be about the same. And how many times had he been there for her, even when it wasn’t easy? He’d held her in his arms when he was  _ shot _ , for crying out loud. She could sit in a cold metal chair and keep him company for a few hours.

“Okay.” 

His relief was immediate. And obvious. And more than a little heartbreaking. 

“Just let me talk to Agent Christopher,” she added, instantly wishing she could take it back. The terror behind his eyes was far too much. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

With clear reluctance, he nodded. 

She stepped outside the room, only half surprised to find Agent Christopher standing there, waiting. The others had scattered, but clearly, her boss knew she had something to say. 

“Out with it,” Agent Christopher ordered, but not unkindly. A gentle prompting that she must have known Lucy needed. 

Her mother’s voice was in her ear, and for a moment, guilt nearly suffocated Lucy-she couldn’t stand up to her, what kind of daughter was she, she couldn’t-but she swallowed it down fiercely. Denise was  _ not  _ the woman who raised her, and she wasn’t risking the relationship just by speaking her mind.

“Why?” She crossed her arms. “Why put him through that? How could you think he’d ever help those monsters?”

Agent Christopher considered the question. “Do you know when I was ready to make Jessica leave the bunker?”

The change of topic threw her briefly, before a sinking suspicion settled in her gut. “When?”

“As soon as she walked in the door.” The agent rarely seemed old, but just at the moment, her eyes spoke of far too many years. She seemed impossibly tired. “My training, my gut… All of it was telling me to get her out of here. But Wyatt… Wyatt is like a son to me.” She held Lucy’s gaze. “He wanted her to stay, and I let her. I trusted her, even when I shouldn’t have, and we all paid the price for it.”

The anger drained from Lucy in an instant. “It wasn’t your fault,” she pointed out.

Denise didn’t hesitate. “I’ve accepted my role in that, Lucy. I made a mistake. And I can’t afford to make it again.” She paused. “Believe me, I want to trust Flynn. And I think that man in there is telling the truth. But I had to be sure.”

Lucy nodded, processing that. It never occurred to her that their fearless leader would be blaming herself for what happened with Jessica, but it made sense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry about it.” She gave her an odd smile. “I’d do the same thing in your position.” 

So she wasn’t oblivious to how close Lucy and Flynn were growing. Lucy had wondered. Although it probably wasn’t much of a secret anymore, she mused. Not after the second night of her staying by Flynn’s side, waiting for him to regain consciousness. 

Speaking of Flynn, he was probably worried sick. With a final nod, she slipped back into the room, offering him a reassuring smile.

She settled back in her seat, and he reached for her. This was becoming a routine of theirs, and she couldn’t say she minded. “It’s okay.” She caught his hand, shakily running a thumb over the back of it. “You’ll be okay.”

He sagged back against the bed, careful not to let her go, and his eyes briefly fell closed. Before she had time to wonder if he was going back to sleep, he opened them again, glancing at her. “This… Wyatt,” he began slowly, and she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Of course that was where he'd start. “He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

She couldn’t resist. “Actually, he’s your best friend.” It took everything in her to keep a straight face.

For half a second, he looked utterly stunned. Then, he hesitated. Narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

She allowed her lips to quirk up, and he chuckled, shaking his head. 

“It’s… Complicated,” she started. Paused, debating exactly how much to say. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around.” 

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but let it go, at least for the moment, and she nearly sighed in relief.

He considered his next words for a long time. “What was her name?” He asked finally, holding up his left hand. 

Instantly, her guard was up. As much as she wanted to tell him everything, Agent Christopher was right; they couldn’t risk his brain overloading. They couldn’t risk losing him. (She couldn’t lose him.) 

Even with no memories, he could still read her like an open book. “I’m not… I won’t ask anything else. But…” His eyes were wide and pleading. “At least tell me her name.”

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. He tried so hard to save his wife, but in the end, he was stuck with her instead, and if she could offer him even a little bit of comfort, shouldn’t she?

“Lorena.” The word barely slipped through her suddenly tight throat. 

_ “Lorena,” _ he echoed, and she half-expected his memories to come back in a rush, the way they did in the movies. Maybe he did too, because after a long moment, his shoulders sagged in defeat. “But she and I aren’t married anymore?”

Technically another question, but she didn’t have the heart to keep this from him. (And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to pull away from her, the way he no doubt would if he thought he was married.) “No.”

Thankfully, he didn’t follow that line of questioning. “And you’re not-we’re not-anything?”

_ Right, _ she almost said, but that wasn’t quite true, after all. A moment from nights before was burned into her mind, watching a movie together, her head on his shoulder. Him holding her gaze, half scared, half hopeful, and her waiting, breathless, hoping he’d close the gap.

He didn’t.

Mason walked in, and Flynn made his excuses, vanishing to his room.

“We’re… It’s complicated,” she said carefully. “But we’re friends.” After a moment, she exhaled, letting the words she’d only thought before slip out. “You’re probably my best friend.”

He scanned her eyes briefly. Searching. Maybe he thought it was another joke. 

Finally, he lit up, relief washing over his features. “Well, then.” A hint of pink dusted his cheeks. “If I made you uncomfortable, I-”

“It’s fine.” She wouldn’t say he didn’t, because when he thought she was his wife, she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe. But she couldn’t hold that against him. “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.” 

“That’s an understatement.” He shook his head, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he looked her over. “So, who are you, exactly? What is it you…” He gestured vaguely. “Do?”

How on earth was she going to explain this one? 

“I’m… A historian,” she answered slowly. “And a teacher.”

His brows furrowed. “This doesn’t look like a school.” A pause, then he offered her a playful grin. “Although Agent Christopher could certainly pass for a principal. Yeesh.” 

She tried to muffle her giggle with her palm, but by the way his eyes danced, he wasn’t fooled in the slightest. 

“She’s just trying to keep us safe,” Lucy insisted, compelled to defend their boss a little. “And no, not a school. This is…” How to explain without bringing up time travel and completely freaking him out? “A military base.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “That still doesn’t explain you.”

“I…” 

His face fell, but he quickly forced a smile. “If this is one of those things you can’t tell me, that’s fine.” 

“I consult,” she answered firmly. “Our mission is complicated, to say the least. Hard to explain. But I provide information.”

He considered this. “And me? I… Fight?” There was a wary tinge in his words, and the response came before she could think about it.

“You keep me safe.”

It was exactly the right thing to say. 

He grinned, an innocent and boyish look she was already getting used to. “Apparently I’m doing a good job, because you look-” He faltered, cheeks flushing an adorable shade of red. “Uninjured,” he finished weakly. 

Was that a step up or down from _ ‘You looked good’? _ She wasn’t sure. 

“All thanks to you.” 

He seemed pleased, but said nothing, eyes slowly drifting shut. Poor guy. The interrogation must have wiped him out. 

“Rest,” she murmured, freeing a hand to run it through his hair. He melted at the contact, leaning into it like a kitten, and she took that as a sign to continue. It was strange, seeing the fearsome Garcia Flynn without any walls up. Sure, he’d lowered some of them around her, but he was definitely still guarded. 

“You’ll stay?” He checked, and her throat tightened. 

“I’ll stay.” 

As he drifted off to sleep, he smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, look at Flynn. Actually happy! When's the next time he's happy in this fic? *Checks notes* Don't ask. Anyway, I HOPE to have more dialogue teases on Monday, and the next chapter up a week from today. Fair warning, chapter three has currently declared war on me, and the editing will be harsh and fierce, so I can't make any promises. 
> 
> Speaking of dialogue teases, I was going to give a special shout-out to the person who guessed correctly the most, but you ALL tied at 2/5, so... Ambigiousgelpens, TimelessGarcyGirl, Amandaflynns, and Ununpredictableme, thank you all for playing!!!


	3. Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He liked that she said ‘we.’ Like an unspoken promise that he didn’t have to do this alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you're not dreaming. Yes, I actually updated. I know, I don't believe it either. The good news is, this was the chapter that was sticking. Everything after this should be ready to post with only minor grammatical edits. Hopefully I'll be able to go back to posting regularly again. 
> 
> Now, if you're reading this-if you've actually waited me out this long, and are still interested enough to read this-know that I love you. Yes, you, personally. I'm currently wrapping you in a big hug, (or gifting you with pretend junk food of your choice, if you aren't a hugger), and probably crying on your shoulder, because you guys are amazing.

Physically, he was recovering incredibly fast; even without his memories, he was (in Jiya’s words) “too stubborn to let something like a little bullet wound slow him down,” and before long, he was back on his feet. Still sore and aching, but walking, nonetheless. 

Mentally, on the other hand…. 

“Nothing.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t remember anything.” 

For the last half hour or so, Lucy had been sitting by him on the couch, trying to help jog his memory. She asked him questions about his life, his career, and even his hobbies. Anything to spark a memory, but to no avail. The panic inside him was steadily growing, a cacophony of  _ ‘what ifs’ _ and _ ‘whys’ _ . It might not have been so bad, if the memory of the others’ distrust wasn’t so clear in his mind. 

Lucy reached out, squeezing his shoulder, and he exhaled, leaning into her touch. “It’s okay,” she murmured, somehow optimistic in spite of everything. “We’ll get there.” 

He liked that she said ‘we.’ Like an unspoken promise that he didn’t have to do this alone. 

Still, he couldn’t help but worry. 

“Maybe if you told me about what happened to my wife…” He didn’t mean to push, but it was frustrating. It felt like the missing puzzle piece to his memories was right out of reach, and everyone kept dangling it there, refusing to let him close. Lorena, he was quite sure, was dead; they wouldn’t have been so evasive otherwise. But if he only knew how it happened, maybe everything would make sense.

“You know I can’t do that.” She sounded as tired as he felt.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting in vain against his growing headache. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“I know,” she whispered. “Hang in there.”

_ ‘I’m trying,’  _ he wanted to scream, not at her, but at the world.  _ ‘I’m trying.’ _

She watched him carefully, and he had the distinct impression that she could hear every word he wasn’t saying. Finally, she ran her hand down his arm. “Why don’t you get some rest? We can try again later.” 

It seemed like all he’d been doing was sleeping, but that wasn’t the same as resting. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could rest with all of the thoughts warring in his mind, but for her, he was willing to try. 

-

His hair was soft.

It seemed odd to her, somehow, that she’d never realized it before.

She wasn’t sure if he was aware that his head had come to rest on her lap, but stroking his hair seemed more than reasonable (With any luck, it would soothe him, even in his sleep. It was certainly soothing her).

Worries tugged at her mind, taunting her. What if he never remembered? What if he was stuck forever in this puppyish version of himself? Endearing as he was, this wasn’t Garcia Flynn. Not really. This wasn’t the man who held her in a filthy alley, who flirted with her throughout time, who knew her better than she knew herself. 

This wasn’t the man who had read her journal. 

(When had that stopped unnerving her? When had it become a comfort, something steady for her to rely on? When did she start  _ wanting _ him to know her?)

To keep from dwelling on those thoughts, she focused on the man in her arms, taking in all the details she’d never noticed: The freckles dotting his neck, too small to see from afar. The scars littering his skin. The jagged marks on his ears, where earring holes must once have been. (She tried to picture him in a leather jacket and earrings, acting like some rebel without a cause. It didn’t fit him as well as it should have, and a smirk tugged at her lips.)

She studied first with her eyes, then with her fingertips, tracing his scruff, his neck, the bridge of his nose. Through it all, he never even stirred, and she was struck by how exhausted he was. (And how much he trusted her. She was a virtual stranger to him, and he still trusted her to look over him while he slept.)

He looked… Vulnerable, which was an odd word to describe Garcia Flynn, but it fit. Asleep, he seemed impossibly young. Innocent. She could probably have watched him forever. 

She rested her palm against his cheek, wishing more than anything that she had a camera. 

Without warning, his eyes opened.

She froze, mind racing, trying desperately to think of a half-acceptable excuse, when she noticed his expression: Not foggy, not glazed. Bright and alert, and just a bit curious. He must have been awake for some time. 

“I’m-” She nearly choked on the words. “I’m so-”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t mind.” His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, looking like he very much wanted to sink into the floor. As if  _ he _ were the one who should have been embarrassed. “That is-” 

The ridiculousness of the whole situation hit her all at once. What were they? School children? 

“Good,” she said firmly, though she was sure her own cheeks were burning. “Good.”

He smiled shyly, sitting up, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” she added, and he coughed.

“There are worse ways to wake up.” It would almost have seemed smooth, if he wasn’t quite so red, and his gaze wasn’t fixed on the wall behind her. “Thank you for the-for your help.” 

Very briefly, she wondered if he would remember this when he got his memory back, or if it would be lost to him. A part of him that only she knew. Her own version of the journal. Was this shy, flustered man the real Garcia Flynn? Who he should have been, would have been, if Rittenhouse hadn’t taken his family from him? She wasn’t quite sure. 

Her answer was the same, regardless. 

“Anytime.”

-

“I apologize.” 

The low chatter at the dinner table fell silent, as everyone turned to him. He swallowed, looking into each of their eyes in turn. Confusion, uncertainty, and wariness stared back. Again, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for-he wasn’t sure, but enough was enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What?” Lucy found her voice first, and he honed in on her, on the trust mixed with her confusion. She, at least, was not afraid of this announcement. 

“For whatever I did,” he explained. “Whatever I did to make you-” He nodded to Agent Christopher and Rufus. “Not trust me, and you-” Wyatt. “Hate me.” 

For a moment, no one said anything. Lucy started to shake her head, clearly about to offer some token reassurance, but just at the moment, that wasn’t what he needed. (Later, he promised himself. If she’d let him, later, he’d listen to her quiet encouragements, her promises that he was a good man and everything would be okay.) 

“But the thing is, I don’t…” Their stares were too much, and he dropped his gaze to the table, studying the dents in the metal. “I don’t remember doing it. So please, could you-” He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. What, exactly, did he want from them? Trust? Friendship? An actual conversation? “Give me a chance?” 

He could almost feel them considering his words, as they glanced between each other, debating. Then, unexpectedly, Rufus chuckled. It wasn’t harsh or sarcastic, but almost friendly. “Fair enough. Yeah, sure, man. Welcome to the bunker.” Rufus held out his hand, and Garcia followed suit, shaking it firmly.

“Thank you.”

Jiya and Mason nodded in silent agreement, and after a moment, Agent Christopher did, as well. Wyatt still seemed to have reservations, arms crossed over his chest. Well, he wasn’t going to  _ beg.  _ One person in this bunker hating him would be more bearable than five, at least. He stood, about to call it a night, when Wyatt’s voice stopped him. 

“I’m sorry, too. I haven’t been… Fair. To you.” 

Simple. Short. He waited for him to elaborate, but no explanation came. Still, it was something. “I forgive you.” Because how could he ask for it without giving it in return? 

More at peace than he’d felt since this whole mess started, he settled into his bed, opened a book, and flipped to the first page. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da!!! This chapter was a tiny bit of a filler, but in the next chapter, Something Major Happens: Flynn finds out something that he really doesn't want to know. 
> 
> ... Have fun with that, and thank you again for reading! :D


	4. Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was more, he was sure of it, hidden in the recesses of his brain. There, but just out of reach. Just like everything else in his life. “How on earth did I get involved in time travel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update!! I meant to get this up sooner, but then I had a paper of doom to write, so I'm just now getting this here. 
> 
> A little note on this chapter: In the words of my dear friend Blue, "Don't kiss your friends when they're having panic attacks," but "We love a good trope." ... This chapter gets a little dark. Please enjoy.

Emma was, Lucy supposed, generous to them. She gave them five full days to help Flynn adjust before she jumped again. (The gift was unintentional, of course, but it was something.) Five days where they could brush off his questions with throwaway phrases like “Top secret” and “Military project.” The Lifeboat was a little harder to explain, but “Experimental Weapon” seemed to satisfy him. They had five days to figure out how to explain time travel to him.

Then, time was up.

They were all in their makeshift living room, watching one of the new Star Trek movies, and Flynn was sitting beside her, subtly shifting closer and closer to her on the couch. His right leg pressed against her left, and his arm was along the back of the couch, not-quite wrapped around her. It was clear he was hoping she would lean against him, and she was tempted, but every time she considered it, she imagined Wyatt’s reaction: The scowling, the passive-aggressive comments, the puppy eyes…

She didn’t want that for herself, and she really didn’t want it for this version of Flynn, who somehow seemed to care what Wyatt thought of him. 

It was probably telling that she barely jumped when the alarms started going off. Flynn, on the other hand, had her tucked against his chest in an instant, covering her as much as he could with his body, even as he reached instinctively for a gun he didn’t have. She could only just hear his heart hammering against her ear, his uneven breath above her head, and it took her a moment to find her voice. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and some of the tension drained from him. (Maybe he’d noticed that none of the others were panicking.) “It’s okay. It happens.” 

He released her slowly, expression half frightened, half sheepish. Waiting for her reaction, or some sort of explanation. 

As she struggled to find the words, Jiya made her way to the computer, and groaned. “Colombia, South Carolina, 1953.” 

“Yay.” Rufus sounded exhausted, and Lucy didn’t blame him in the slightest. “Because that won’t suck for me or anything.” 

She shot him an apologetic glance, but he shrugged it off, more used to this than he really should have been. There were some parts of history that she’d just as soon never see up close again. 

“Wait.” Flynn’s brows furrowed, as he clearly started to catch up with the conversation. “Are you-are you saying-?” 

He looked half ready to bolt, and they really didn’t have time to explain it, but if he broke out, they’d have bigger issues on their hands. Reader’s Digest version it was, then. She rested a hand on his arm, hoping the touch would soothe him a little, the way it had since he’d woken up without his memories. “There are bad people, and they have a time machine. We use our time machine to try to stop them.” 

“That’s-” He started to protest, but Agent Christopher cut in. 

“You have to get moving. The longer Emma’s in the past, the more damage she could do, without any of us ever knowing.” 

“Right.” Lucy’s mind raced. “You know what? Why don’t you just… Watch?”

Flynn looked far from convinced, but nodded, and she scrambled to the Lifeboat, with Rufus, Wyatt, and Agent Christopher on her heels.

Oh, she would have paid to see his face.

-

Time travel.

He knew they were keeping something from him, of course. They way they dodged his questions about why they were there, living in a bunker? Clearly, there was more going on than he knew. But in all this time, he’d never once guessed that time travel could be an option. He probably wouldn’t have believed it at all, if it weren’t for the empty space where the orb-the _ time machine _ -was moments before. 

Impossible. 

With a groan, he sank back into the couch, careful not to jostle his injuries. They were healing, or so he was told, but they still hurt like crazy, and the way he’d moved to protect Lucy hadn’t helped. It had been strangely instinctive, pulling her to him, shielding her as much as possible with his body. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

“You okay?” Jiya approached him cautiously, taking a seat on the far end of the couch. “I know it’s a lot.” 

A lot. That seemed like an understatement. Still, it was kind of her to ask. He nodded slowly, struggling for words. “I know… Things. About time travel.” It seemed strange to say out loud. Then again, what part of this situation wasn’t strange? 

“Like what?” She cocked her head to the side curiously. 

“Like… Only a certain number of people to a time machine.” That, he was sure of. “If you have too many, there are… Side-effects.” 

She gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. You could say that.” Something in her eyes, her tone, made her seem much older than she was.

He kept going, partially because he was trying to sort it all out in his head. (Partially because he could still feel Lucy in his arms, could still smell her perfume, and he needed something else to focus on. Whatever was between them, she’d said it was complicated, and he believed her.) “We… Shouldn’t travel onto our own timelines, but we can.” 

She frowned, brows furrowing together. “No? We can’t travel onto our own timelines at all. Absolutely not.” 

Strange. He knew, as well as he knew that the sky was blue or that leaves were green, even though he hadn’t seen either since waking, that it was possible to travel back on your own timeline. That it had been done before. Still, he wasn’t about to argue with her, not when he barely recognized his reflection in the mirror. 

“If you change something in the past, you remember the way it was, but no one else does.” 

Once again, she nodded. 

There was more, he was sure of it, hidden in the recesses of his brain. There, but just out of reach. Just like everything else in his life. “How on earth did I get involved in time travel?” He muttered, not really even asking Jiya. She drew in a sharp breath, and he glanced at her, taking in her wide, panicked eyes.

_ Ah. _

“Let me guess: It has something to do with my wife?” 

She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. 

“Right.” 

“Look, can I… Get you anything? Help?” After a tentative moment, she rested a hand on his arm. He almost declined, when an idea occurred to him. It was more than a little underhanded, but he was just so tired of not knowing things. Of secrets. 

Adopting his best conspiratorial expression, he leaned in a bit. “Honestly? I think I’ve done everything in this bunker twice. Not to sound like a whining child, but I’m really, really bored.” 

She laughed, nodding. “I think we have some board games in storage. Fair warning, they’re probably at least thirty years old and missing pieces, but… I’ll go see what I can find.” 

With that, she disappeared down the hallway. 

He didn’t hesitate. The now-abandoned computer was too tempting to resist, and within seconds, he was settled in front of it, typing as fast as he could.

_ ‘Lorena Flynn death.’  _

-

As missions went, it wasn’t a bad one. 

Emma had targeted a future senator, someone who had always managed to keep some power away from Rittenhouse candidates. How he managed to stay alive as long as he did was a wonder, but it wasn’t surprising that Emma wanted him dead. 

However, Emma asked the wrong family to hide her. When Lucy told them the truth, they were quick to give her away, and she was sent running back to the Mothership, leaving the senator still unharmed. 

Seriously, it was almost embarrassingly easy. Still, there was something unnerving about not having Flynn watching her back, making snarky comments by her ear. She missed him; she could admit that. Without him there as a buffer, the tension between her and Wyatt was almost unbearable, and with Agent Christopher there, they couldn’t even talk about it. About how close she and Flynn had become, and how she couldn’t handle Wyatt’s jealousy anymore. 

It wasn’t surprising that Rufus stayed away from them for most of the mission.

By the time she stepped off the Lifeboat, she was ready to find Flynn, wrap her arms around him, and stay there for awhile, no matter what Wyatt thought.

Her dreams were cut short, however, when she spotted him. He was kneeling over a trash can, terrifyingly pale, with tremors running through his body. She gasped, rushing to his side, but he flinched away from her touch. 

“Flynn?” She whispered, before hesitating. Right, he wouldn’t be used to that. “Garcia?” 

Nothing. 

“Garcia, please,” she murmured, kneeling down beside him. “Talk to me.”

“Lucy?” Wyatt’s voice cut through her thoughts, tight and wary. Frustration jolted through her. Did he really think now was the time for this? 

“Shhhh,” she hissed, but Wyatt stood firm.

“Lucy, you need to come see this.” 

She almost argued, but something familiar tugged. Trusting him was apparently a sort of muscle memory she hadn’t completely lost. With one final glance at Flynn, she stood and made her way to his side. He was standing in front of the computer, staring at the screen with the same dread one might give a bomb.

Quickly, she realized why.

_ No. _

There, on the screen, bold black letters held a taunting message: “ **Former NSA Agent Murders Family.”**

Honestly, she’d almost forgotten that was what the rest of the world thought. What she once thought. Her life had become so big and complex that a simple frame job wasn’t even on her radar anymore.

The article didn’t have many details, but she could only imagine what was going through his mind. Nearly tripping in her haste to reach his side again, she settled in beside him, grabbing his arm. “Garcia, you didn’t do it, okay?” 

He didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Just sat, utterly broken, staring into the trash can blankly. She dreaded to think how long he’d been there. “Garcia, please. Listen to me. It’s not true.”

Finally, he turned his head toward her, but he wasn’t really looking at her. Just staring past her, trembling in place. She cupped his cheek, and he flinched, but didn’t pull away, though he didn’t look at her, either. It wasn’t even clear if he could hear her or not.

“I-” He managed, but no more words would come. “I-” His gaze caught on something on the computer desk, and fixed there. She glanced back, and her breath caught.

It was his gun.

Later, she would question what she did next. Later, she would tell herself it probably wasn’t the best thing she could have done. But panic flooded her, and all she could think was that she needed him to listen to her, before it was too late. So she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

It wasn’t a good kiss, and in fact, it could hardly be called a kiss at all. His mouth was stone beneath hers, and his breath was still bitter from sick. But when she pulled away, he was finally  _ with _ her, eyes focused solely on her. ( _ Wide as saucers, _ she thought.) 

“You didn’t kill them,” she repeated, and this time, he blinked, at least showing that he was listening. Figuring it was time, she exhaled. “Rittenhouse killed them-” His eyes flickered in recognition of the name, the name they’d asked him so many questions about that first day, and steadfastly avoided ever since. “And framed you. Since that day, you’ve been fighting them, and we help you.” 

Granted, it left out a few details, but that was the gist of it.

He searched her eyes, and she let him look, silently assuring him that she was telling him the truth. Suddenly, he moved, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. “I had a daughter,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Iris. But I don’t-I don’t remember her.” 

She didn’t try to shush him, just held him close, rubbing circles on his back, aching to take just a little bit of his pain onto herself. That’s what he always did for her, after all. A quiet gasp drew her attention, and she glanced up to see Jiya standing in the doorway, a couple of board games in hand, looking absolutely horrified. After a brief pause, Wyatt cleared his throat, and set to work guiding the others out of the room. Jiya lingered the longest, but between Wyatt and Rufus, she finally allowed herself to be led away.

Making a mental note to thank Wyatt later, she leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Flynn's head. He whimpered, nuzzled closer. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “I'm right here.” 

Time lost meaning as they stayed there, him sobbing into her shoulder. Finally, he sat up, spent, and wiped his eyes. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse. Then, unexpectedly, he blushed. “Ah, about the-it wasn’t very-I’m sorry I-”

It took her a moment to parse out his meaning, but when she did, she could have laughed. He was apologizing because he hadn’t given her a world-changing kiss while caught up in grief? Lips twitching, she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, maybe because she was feeling a little brave, or maybe just because she wanted to make him smile, she added, “We’ll just have to do better next time.”

It worked. His smile was small and startled, but so sincere. “Next time?” He looked half-ready to kiss her then and there, but she knew it wasn’t time for that. Not now. Not when he’d just lost his family all over again. So she rested a hand on his chest, and nodded.

“Next time. When you’ve had some time to process.” 

His face fell, but after a moment, he nodded, running a hand over his face. “Fair enough. I should probably get some sleep.” A pause, then he seemed to remember something. “Oh, how was the-” He stumbled over the word. “Past?”

More than a little touched that he thought to ask, even after everything, she smiled. “Quiet. Judgemental. Racist. You know, the usual. But… We stopped Emma from making history worse, so that’s something.” 

“Good.” He looked so proud of her, she ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. 

With that, he disappeared down the hall, and she went to find the other members of their team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!!


	5. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before…” Rufus hesitated. “Look, when Rittenhouse killed your family, you kind of…” He took a breath, and Garcia found he could not do the same. “Lost it. A little bit.” 
> 
> Lost what, he wanted to ask. His mind? His happiness? His soul?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news: I'm back! 
> 
> The bad news: This chapter comes with a tissue warning. There's progress, for sure, but... There's also Jessica Logan. And normally I start her off further along the whole redemption line, but this time, we're going back to the start. Which means, today, she's all Rittenhouse. 
> 
> The other news: I love Rufus so much it's unreal.

It was supposed to help him remember. 

Learning about his wife, about her death, was supposed to help him remember who he was. Instead, he felt more lost than ever. The bunker had long gone silent, but he was still wide awake, lying back on his bed, studying the patterns in the ceiling. Did he have them all memorized, before? Did he know every crack, every stain, on the speckled tile? Or did he sleep peacefully the moment his head hit the pillow? (Somehow, he doubted it. The words of the article were burned in his brain, and he could scarcely imagine living through something like that.) 

A daughter. 

He had a daughter. 

Just five years old when she died. What sort of monsters killed a child? And why? Was Lorena the target? Was he? Was Iris just caught in the crossfire? 

(There were more questions, too. Questions he hardly dared voice. Because none of this explained why the team had been so wary of him in the early days. If they fought monsters who were willing to kill a five year old girl, what could he have possibly done to inspire that kind of fear?) 

And Lucy…. 

Lucy kissed him. 

He'd been trying so hard not to push her, to take whatever comfort she offered and let her set the pace. But then, she kissed him. She offered him an anchor, something solid to bring him back to earth. To her. (And she'd talked about doing it again. Properly. It had taken everything in him not to kiss her that instant. Right though she was about it not being the time, he desperately wanted to.) 

Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he rolled onto his side, studying the bookshelf. Had he read all of the books? Maybe if he reread the right one, his memories would fall into place. But which one? (What if he never remembered, and he was grasping as pathetic straws?)

A knock on his door startled him. Who else would be awake at this hour? 

For a brief moment, he hoped it was Lucy, but when he opened the door, Rufus was standing there, a deck of cards in hand. “You know what the problem with this bunker is?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.

Garcia blinked. “Ah… No decent heating?” 

Laughing warmly, Rufus nodded. “That, too. But the real problem is, we all know each other way too well. Who sings in the shower, who puts ketchup on their pizza…” He shuddered, plopping down on the floor. After a tentative moment, Garcia followed. “And who snores. So if you’re having trouble sleeping…” He fixed Garcia with a pointed stare. “You can’t exactly hide it.”

Comprehension dawning, Garcia exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Maybe I'm just not tired.” 

“Yeah.” Rufus's eyes danced. “And maybe I'm Jean-Claude Van Damme.” Then, more seriously, he added, “Look, you've had a crazy day. Something tells me you want to talk about it. So…” He set to work dealing cards. “Talk.” 

Almost without meaning to, he did. He found himself telling Rufus everything, all of the doubts and fears that had been building up from the day he woke up without his memories. It all came out in a bit of a jumble, but Rufus listened patiently, never interrupting or rushing him. Occasionally, one of them would lay down a card, but neither of them were paying much attention to the game. 

“Part of me is scared I'll never remember,” he admitted finally. “But part of me…. Part of me hopes I don't. Whatever I did to this team…” He swallowed, meeting Rufus's eyes. “To you? I don't know that I want to be that person again.” 

For a long minute, Rufus said nothing. He seemed to be debating something in his head. “He isn't so bad, you know? The other Flynn, I mean.” 

“Not so bad?” He raised an eyebrow. “Ringing endorsement.” 

Rufus huffed. “You know what I mean. He… You… Have been a lifesaver since you joined this team. Sometimes literally.” He shuddered, some sort of memory passing over his face, and Garcia had to wonder why. But he weighed Rufus's words, and found something missing. 

“Since I've joined this team? What about before?” He hoped Rufus would say they hadn't known each other before that, that he'd joined the team immediately after his family's death, the way Lucy had implied, but somehow, he knew better. 

“Before…” Rufus hesitated. “Look, when Rittenhouse killed your family, you kind of…” He took a breath, and Garcia found he could not do the same. “Lost it. A little bit.” 

Lost what, he wanted to ask. His mind? His happiness? His soul? “Oh?” 

“Yeah. You did some things. Bad things. You were trying to stop Rittenhouse, but… A lot of innocent people got caught in the crossfire.” 

“Like who?”  _ Please not Lucy, please not Lucy, he couldn't handle it if he'd hurt Lucy- _

“Me.” The younger man seemed almost matter-of-fact about it. He tugged his collar down, revealing a jagged scar, terrifyingly close to his heart. 

Garcia thought he might be sick again. “I  _ shot _ you?” 

Rufus shrugged. “Al Capone pulled the trigger, but… He was doing you a favor.” 

As he struggled to absorb that information- _ what sort of awful thing must he have done, to earn a favor from Al Capone? _ -a question slipped out. “So why are you-?”  _ Here?  _ He could not quite voice it. 

“Because… I died.” Rufus laughed, a little shakily, but quickly clarified. “Not because of you. See, that's the thing with time travel. Your life can be totally normal, and the next thing you know, everyone's telling you that you died in another timeline.” He paused, giving that time to sink in. “You saved me. Almost died doing it. Guess I figure I owe you one.” 

Hardly, he wanted to say. At best, they were even, and something told him it wasn't even as good as that. Still, he appreciated it, Rufus's willingness to be there. “Thank you.” A yawn escaped him before he could stop it, and Rufus laughed. 

“Get some sleep, man. No offense, but you look awful. And hey,” He softened. “If you ever need to talk… I’m always up for a card game. I won, by the way.” 

Truthfully, he'd stopped paying attention to the game all together. He'd thought he was winning, but he wasn't about to argue. 

Besides, he finally had answers. It seemed like a fair trade. 

-

She always knew the moment he came down to breakfast. The team’s low murmurs would die down, and they would look up at the doorway, watching him closely. Waiting to see if he finally remembered, if this nightmare was finally over.

It was later than normal when he finally joined them. Concern was steadily building up inside her, but she did not dare voice it. The events of the night before had hit him hard; maybe she should not have left him alone. At the time, it had seemed practical, but in the morning light, she could not help but question it. What if he was spiraling in on himself, all alone? What if he had finally remembered, and no one was there to help him adjust? 

When it finally happened-when the team finally went silent, and his footsteps echoed behind her-it was a relief. She turned to face him, offering a smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

He did not smile back. His expression was almost helpless, gaze fixed on her like some sort of lost puppy. Briefly, he opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Garcia?” She tried not to panic. “Are you-”

“I kidnapped you.” His voice broke, but his eyes were dry, wide as could be, pleading with her to tell him he was wrong. 

She could not, of course. “You remember?” In spite of herself, her heart began to beat a little faster. Could he possibly be finding his way back to them? 

Clearly, he did not share her excitement. “I kidnapped you,” he repeated. “I  _ hurt _ you.” 

There was a time when she held that against him, but she forgave him so long ago that it seemed more like a distant dream than something she had truly gone through. For whatever reason, he never questioned that-perhaps afraid of the answer-but this version of him did not know that. 

Slowly, she made her way to his side. “That was a long time ago. I forgive you. I trust you.” Short, simple phrases. Hopefully enough to break through whatever was going through his mind. “But I need you to tell me, okay? Do you remember?”

He blinked. “Not… Exactly,” he answered slowly. “It was-I dreamed it. There was a fair. A dinner. And I was so angry with you.” Shame washed over his face, and he dropped his gaze. “I threatened you.” 

Enough was enough. She wrapped her arms around him, and waited for him to fall into it, just like he always had.

He didn’t. “Lucy, I hurt you.” His hands, impossibly gentle, settled on her arms, tugging her away from him. “Even if I don’t remember it, I still did it. If we really were friends, like you said-”

“We _ are,” _ she insisted, a bit desperate, but he barely acknowledged it.

“I should never have let that happen.” It clearly was not meant to hurt, but it scorched, nonetheless. “You have-such a good heart, Lucy. And clearly, I’ve taken advantage of that in the past, but-”

“Oh, shut up.” Wyatt’s voice was a bucket of ice water; truthfully, she’d forgotten that he was there. (Along with the rest of the team.)

Irritation washed over her, and she turned to him, fully prepared to tell him off, but he held Flynn’s gaze fiercely. 

“Look, I didn’t like it. When she first starting getting…” He hesitated. “Close to you, I tried to fight it. Told you to stay away from her, even,” he admitted with a humorless laugh, and Lucy’s mind went blank. When had he done that? “And when that didn’t work, I tried to convince her she was making a mistake. Not thinking straight, or something.” He shook his head. “One thing I learned real quick: Lucy Preston makes her own choices. You’re lucky enough that she wants you around. Don’t mess that up because you think it’s ‘noble’ or something.” 

Lucy stared, mouth agape. She must have looked ridiculous, but she could hardly believe her ears. Wyatt Logan, trying to protect what she and Flynn had? 

Flynn cleared his throat. “But I-”

“You’re right,” Wyatt says with a shrug. “You hurt her. Don’t hurt her more trying to make things right.”

She did not dare look back. If it wasn’t enough-if he was going to abandon her, just like everyone else-

Once again, warm hands settled on her arms, soft and tentative. “Lucy?” His voice shook. “Is that-do you-?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly, not even caring what the question was. “Yes.” She still could not bring herself to turn her head.

He drew her back into his chest, and she exhaled, falling into him. The tension drained from her as he cradled her in his arms, breath warm against her head. Distantly, she was aware of the others filing out, leaving them in privacy. She probably should have been embarrassed by that. By the realization of what they saw. But just then, she did not care. 

For the first time that day, she had peace.

-

The next time the alarms went off, he joined them on the mission. It wasn’t easy to persuade Agent Christopher to allow it, but in the end, they were short on time. Besides, he made a good case. “Shooting is muscle memory,” he pointed out. “So I shoot at the people who are shooting at us. And Lucy’s in charge, so all I have to do is listen to her, right?” 

Of course he got separated from them.

They landed in the middle of World War I, with bombs and gunfire in all directions. In the chaos, in the smoke, in the  _ noise, _ he lost them. “Lucy?” He tried to shout, but it was pointless. The battle drowned out his voice. 

His eyes caught on a figure scrambling toward the treeline: a woman, obviously pregnant, ducking away from the firefight. In a split-second, he made a decision: he would get her to safety, then worry about finding the team. Surely they couldn’t object to him helping an innocent mother, after all? If Lucy were here, he was quite certain she would do the same thing.

As shots rang out around her, he covered her, following her into the trees. “Miss?” He called once they were safely out of sight. “Miss? Are you alright?” 

She hesitated, then turned to face him, brows furrowed. “What?” Up close, he could see that his initial assessment was right: Pregnant, and pretty far along, at that. 

“Are you alright?” He repeated, careful to keep his tone gentle, nonthreatening. Whatever this poor woman had been through, the last thing he wanted to do was scare her more. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Somewhere safe? I promise, I won’t-I won’t hurt you.” 

An unreadable expression flickered across her face, though she stifled it quickly. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

He paused. “Should I?” The team hadn’t mentioned that any other time travelers besides Rittenhouse, and he took an uneasy half-step back. Was this a trap? (Could he truly kill a pregnant woman, if it came to that? He so hoped he would not have to find out.)

She swallowed. “Flynn, it’s me.” A slow step toward him, hand extended in front of her placatingly. “Jessica.”

Jessica? The name didn’t ring a bell. He searched his mind, hoping for some scrap of something familiar, but came up short. “I don’t-”

“Flynn, we’ve been worried sick!” 

Whatever he could have said was interrupted by a sudden explosion, far too close for comfort. Jessica grabbed his arm, tugging. “Come with me. I know somewhere safe.”

“But Lucy-” He started, and she shook her head.

“We’re no use to anyone if we’re dead. And I-” Her hand drifted to her bump, and she looked at him helplessly. “Please.” 

Ignoring the wary tug of his gut, he nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Okay.” 

She led him to a dusty house, some fifteen minutes from the battlefield. At the door, she hesitated. “I should probably go in first. She’ll be pretty upset that you don’t remember her.”

Her? Before he could question it, Jessica disappeared, leaving him outside, alone, in the wind. The temperature had probably dropped close to ten degrees since they arrived, he mused. The sun was setting. Hopefully Lucy had found somewhere warm. (And hopefully he wasn’t making a mistake, following Jessica. But she seemed so sincere, and he could hardly fault her for wanting to protect her child.) 

“What?” The voice was female, definitely, but not Jessica’s, and it sounded shocked. The door swung open, and a woman all but stumbled out. “Garcia?”

She was so breathless, so awed at the very sight of him, that it took him several seconds to even collect his thoughts. 

Finally, he found his voice. “Who are you?” 

Her face crumbled,and she drew back as if she’d been slapped. “So it’s true, then? You don’t… Remember?” 

_ Oh, _ he was so very tired of disappointing people. “I’m sorry.”

“Right. Well.” She squared her shoulders, clearly trying to pull on some kind of professional mask, and failing miserably. “I’m Emma, and-”

His gun was out before he even registered what he was doing.  _ Idiot. Idiot!  _ It was a trap after all, and he walked right into it. Maybe Agent Christopher was right: he shouldn’t have come along. He’d just wanted to protect Lucy...

She flinched back, hurt flashing through her bright green eyes. “Garcia, what are you doing?” She made no move to reach for her own weapon, and shook her head when Jessica started to. 

“My team warned me about you,” he snapped, knowing he should just take the shot. But why wasn’t she fighting back? “They said-”

“Your team?” Her expression was pure bewilderment. “Garcia, we are your team.”

“What? No.” It couldn’t be. They couldn’t have just been lying to him all this time. He trusted them. Especially…. “Lucy told me-”

“Lucy?” Her mouth fell open slightly. “What have they been telling you? You know what she is, right?”

He shouldn’t listen to her. He knew that. But the horror, the heartbreak, seemed so real, and he couldn’t quite remember how to breathe. “I trust her.” It should have been a fierce claim; it was a hollow whisper even he could barely hear.

“Her family killed yours.”

His family. He tightened his hold on the gun at the reminder. “No, Rittenhouse killed my family, and you’re part of it.” 

“Lucy’s the heir.” Emma took a shaky breath, brushing a few strands of hair back behind her ear. “There was a lot of corruption in Rittenhouse. So Jessica and I, we decided to fight back. Turn Rittenhouse into something good, something that…” She dropped her gaze. “Protected children instead of hurting them. You were helping us.”

No. Everything in him rebelled at the idea. (But then, that would explain the way Lucy’s team treated him: like he was an enemy, not to be trusted.) “And Lucy?”

“She wants things to go back to the way things were before, when her family was in charge.” Emma’s eyes softened, and she stepped toward him, apparently unafraid of the gun still aimed at her heart. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through these past few days.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He wished it was not a lie.

“Then ask her yourself.”

He turned, and sure enough, Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus were coming up the trail, still far enough back that they couldn’t have heard, but getting closer. Lucy’s face lit up when she saw him, and she started running a little faster. For a moment-no more than half a second-he entertained the idea of running to her, of trusting his gut, no matter the consequences. 

But  _ Iris.  _ Someone was responsible for the death of his daughter. If there was even a chance it was Lucy…

“Is it true?” His voice was hoarse. 

Wyatt looked past him, and frowned, drawing his gun. Flynn moved instinctively, training his own weapon at the Wyatt. “Is it _ true?”  _ He repeated firmly. 

Confused hurt washed over all of their faces, (but for Wyatt’s; he looked more frustrated than anything,) but Lucy responded. “Is what true?”

“Are you the-” He could barely stomach the words. “The heir of Rittenhouse?” 

She paled, and immediately, he knew. “Flynn, it’s not what you think!”

Flynn.

How quickly he had stopped being Garcia, when he started to doubt her.

“Stay back,” he snarled, stepping fully between his new (old?) friends and Wyatt’s glinting gun. If they were the only ones willing to tell him the truth, he would do everything in his power to protect them. 

Behind him, he heard Jessica and Emma drawing their guns, backing him up.

“Flynn, please,” Lucy whispered, and it carried across the dusty air. “Please, just listen to me.”

“You  _ kissed  _ me,” he hissed, stomach turning. “My daughter is dead because of you, and you kissed me.” 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and for a moment-just a moment-he hesitated. But tears could be faked, and even if she was truly hurt, it was nothing compared to what Iris must have gone through. 

“Look, Flynn, we’re not just going to leave you here with them,” Rufus cut in. 

“Then I’ll kill you.” He wasn’t quite sure if it was true or not. Could he kill the man who had gone so far out of his way to befriend him? But then, the things Rufus said he did… What if they were lies? What if he never helped Al Capone, or hurt innocent people? If they’d been lying to him all along, they would have said anything to make him feel small. Helpless. Weak. 

“Come on.” Emma’s hand settled on his elbow. “Let’s go.” 

Mind spinning, he followed. She and Jessica brought him around behind the house, as footsteps echoed behind them, warning that the others were still hot on their heels.

No matter.

Hidden in the trees in the dusty backyard set a machine that he instinctively knew must be a time machine. It was probably twice the size of the Lifeboat, and pure white as opposed to dirty gray. (It also did not appear to be held together by duct tape and prayer.) Before Lucy’s team could catch them, they were safely inside. 

He only just heard Lucy’s voice as the door closed behind him: “Garcia, please. I love you.”

But he knew better.

It was just another lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And now I'm going to hide. See you guys soon!!! Don't worry, though; we're almost through the rough part. It's me, so happiness is coming. Just hang in, there.


End file.
